


Untouched

by purlieu



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Admiration, F/F, Femslash, Fluff, some small male sosu/hancock in the background because this wasnt gay enough already, try to add more tags as i go along here, vague Hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 12:56:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6006820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purlieu/pseuds/purlieu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curie is much too perfect for her own good. Too kind, too gentle, too clean - she shouldn't be here in the wasteland at all. And it drives Cait mad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't seriously written in quite a while so please be gentle, heh. however i adore the dynamic between curie and cait and the lack of content for it is a travesty ! sorry if this starts a bit slow or out of character, getting into the writing groove is a bit harder than expected. thanks for reading!

It wasn’t fair.

 

Cait had first begun to travel with Curie thanks to Nate, who hadn’t the time to supervise the perky doctor in that he had some important as hell settlers to listen to complain. (Cait didn’t envy his position as the general of the Minutemen.) Instead, he had firmly instructed Cait to keep on an eye on the aforementioned doctor - synth, she couldn’t help but think bitterly - while shoving some purified water into her hands and telling her to get cleaned up within 10 minutes. It’d been five, and after unceremoniously dumping the water over her head, Cait was already thumping her feet against the floor in boredom and restlessness, tipping her head back to count cracks in the ceiling.

 

She had next to no idea what the synth was like, only that she was a good source of medical supplies and when she got very excited her perky French accent could be heard all the way across Sanctuary. Knowing only this information, Cait was in no way ready for the synth to bustle in the door, fully equipped with goggles that were much too big for her head, one of the most dilapidated guns Cait had ever seen, and a beaming smile. “I am ready to travel when you are, Madame!” She chirped like an overexcited bird - you know, the kind that wake you up at the crack of dawn.

 

Cait looked at her with eyebrows raised nearly above her hairline for a long moment, before squeezing her eyes shut with a sigh and getting out of her chair, back protesting loudly. “Better get movin’, then.” She grunted, snatching a shotgun from where it leaned precariously against the rickety table, the one with legs carelessly patched with duct tape.

 

She squinted - did the synth just throw her a quick salute? “If you’re gonna travel with me, lay off the damned act.” Cait snapped immediately, pushing the door open with a motion probably more forceful than necessary. “Don’t know what the whole thing is for, but not a single person acts like that without being out of their mind on drugs or the most annoying being on this earth.”

 

Curie blinked, taken aback for only a moment before smiling again, a bit more nervously. “But… I am excited to travel with you, Madame Cait! I have heard you are quite formidable in combat, and I would indeed like to see it for myself.”

 

Cait grunted, letting her fingers play over the stock of the shotgun. “‘Least you’ve got one thing right. Come on, we’re wastin’ daylight.” With that, she sped up her pace to a near jog, Curie trailing behind her with all the energy of the puppies Dogmeat had recently sponsored.

 

The problem with traveling was that it gave Cait entirely too much time to think. And the synth nearly skipping at her side, head swiveling to catch all the sights and sounds of the world around - irradiated stinking thing that it was - was very much something to think about. The biggest thing that scratched at her brain was how -- _clean_ Curie looked. Cait had seen her fair share of wastelanders, and as unsavory or otherwise as they might be, they all shared in their uncleanliness. It wasn't just grime that told their story - it was the grittiness in their eyes, their easy willingness to kill, the scars and bruises that danced across rough skin - yet Cait saw none of this in Curie. It left her confused, and that pissed her the hell off. What right did this woman - this _synth_ \- have to be so clean? No one went untouched by the wasteland - even Nate, fresh out of the vault, was already developing callouses and bruises, and the cautious flint in his eyes. So why wasn't she? How could Curie stay so elegant, so gentle, so goddamn kind? It was at this point Cait realized she was openly admiring Curie’s profile as the latter gazed up at the sky - not even bothering to look where she was going! - and mentally cursed herself to get it together, sending her thoughts another place.

 

One thought still tickled at the back of her mind, though, an itch she couldn't manage to shake.

 

_It wasn't fair._

 

***

 

Traveling with Cait was indeed an interesting experience - not a bad one, no! Just… interesting, as Curie found many of the things in this new world to be. However, the redhead did listen to her excited ramblings about this or that with minimal complaint, unlike a certain surly sniper Curie had traveled with not too long ago. Sure, Cait wasn’t exactly the most invested conversationalist, but she still did crack a wry smile from time to time when Curie glanced over at her, eyes alight with wonder.

 

Curie couldn’t help to stare at Cait other than the landscape at some points - of course she would, observation was essential to understanding new people, though for some reason a few were awfully uncomfortable with being studied. Curie always backed off if asked to, consent was an essential in any observation. However, the dear scientist could not help her gaze from lingering just that much longer on the freckles that danced up and down Cait’s forearms, the edges of the (most definitely not forced) smiles that she provided, the way she shook her head the smallest bit, lightly amused.

 

The good doctor very quickly realized that Cait seemed quite sore - she would grunt quietly when they moved over rougher terrain, and grit her teeth at the recoil of the hunting shotgun she had snatched. Driven by her ever-eager desire to help, Curie piped up easily in a lull in the conversation. “I would be very much obliged to help you with that, Madame.” She pursed her lips, a nervous habit at Cait’s mild scowl and confused look.

 

“My what now.”

 

“Ah, I apologize - I have just noticed that you seem quite tense, I mean, ah, in terms of the muscles. Perhaps I could help? Nate has claimed I am quite a fine - what is the word? - masseuse, yes.”

 

Cait stared for a long moment, nearly mirroring the expression Curie had very first seen on her face. Finally she let out a chuff of laughter, shoulders rising in the manner of the amused. Curie quickly stored away the gesture in her memory banks, as she did for rare moments or even those when her heart swelled with that love for the world she sometimes felt she could barely contain within such a small body.

  
“Sure, doc. Put your hands wherever you like on me, if it’ll make these damned aches feel better.” Cait broke into an actual laugh at Curie’s small squeak of surprise and matching blush, and it was as if they had broken some unspoken rule, some wall put up for safety against the unknown. The duo exchanged gentle banter for the rest of the trip, and Cait couldn’t help but think her aching joints felt better already.


	2. Chapter 2

In the end the duo easily gathered what they needed from whatever old hospital they paid a visit to (the name didn't matter to Cait, only the enemies, possible exits and strategies) - it was just the mutant suicider that nearly caught them. While Cait was more than familiar with being up close and personal, somehow snuggling up to a mini nuke didn’t tend to be her first choice. Nate was decent with a rifle and could usually pop off a shot from a far, sending the super mutant up in a cloud of acrid smoke and raising his hand for a high five, which she always would return as hard as physically possible, sending him cursing and whining in pain. However, neither she nor Curie were particularly good with well-ranged weapons - at least not the type that could blow a bomb from afar, which meant they were well and throughly screwed over from the moment Cait first heard the beeping.

 

As the mutant threw itself around the corner, howling threats to the time of that godforsaken beeping, Cait cursed a blue streak and shoved the doctor back behind her, raising her shotgun in an attempt to get at least a shot in before the inevitable big boom. As a slug tore through its side, the suicider howled in pain before apparently deciding that running any further would be a waste and detonating the bomb.

 

Cait threw herself in front of Curie - better to save the one who could bandage your sorry ass later, she rationalized - as a wave of heat washed through the room, throwing both her and the unfortunate doctor against the wall in a tangle of limbs. Curie quickly squirmed out from under her and sat back on her haunches, only her need to truly process the situation (and maybe try not to faint) prohibiting her from fussing over Cait. Sitting up and straightening her back was a new layer of hell altogether, but Cait was persistent in her need to move away from the body pressed too close to her, and based upon the shouting and heavy footsteps of several big green uglies nearby, if she didn't move soon they'd be a whole new level of screwed. "C'mon," She hissed to Curie, pulling at her hands and completely missing Curie's wide-eyed look of open admiration in her hurry. "Need to get ready before those bastards get here."  
  
Curie stopped her staring long enough to fumble with her pistol while Cait lined up her sights near the door, eager to ease her pain with her personal best medicine (revenge) and watch some super mutant heads explode like particularly gruesome watermelons. Cait's grim enthusiasm and Curie's mostly uninjured state assured that quickly all was said and done and the former of the two could relax (or rather, be pushed to the ground by Curie, sternly chiding that she needed to rest and the doctor could gather what she needed by herself). If she had been in any less pain, Cait would have snapped something back, made sure her source of stimpaks and admittedly good views was protected, but instead she slumped in surrender and grunted for the synth to make it snappy so they could get the hell out.

  
  
She most definitely did not sneak a look at Curie's retreating back and her just-a-bit too tight jeans. Not at all.

 

By the time Cait had counted approximately 43 cracks in the ceiling (maybe 44 or 45, she’d stumbled somewhere in the twenties), Curie was back with her pack full to the point where odds and ends distended the fabric, pulling at it like they were trying to escape. "I have found all that is needed!" she announced. "Perhaps we will need to put it to use soon, hm?" she said, gently eyeing the way Cait slouched in pain and exhaustion with sympathy written all over her face.

 

An open book, that woman - all her expression was shown in her face and movements, like if she didn't let it out it would burst out of her in huge beams of emotion. Cait settled for a shrug, gritting her teeth as a streak of pain shot through her shoulder. "We came all this way to get this shite, why waste it on me. 'Long as I can still hold a gun and pack a punch, I'll say I'm fine." Yet in spite of her fighter's instinct, the need to get back on the road that she still felt coursing through her veins - felt too much like the burn of chems sliding through her bloodstream, she thought with bitterness - the fighter turned her back to Curie, and only hissed a bit when delicate, almost heartbreakingly gentle fingers pressed healing salve onto the worst of the burns.

 

***

 

Curie chattered for much of the long, winding way back to Sanctuary, as she often did as a means of processing such new experiences and in a somewhat feeble attempt to keep the mood light. Cait kept her mind on simpler things, such as trying to recall where Nate had actually gone - however all she could pull out of her resisting memory was that he had brought Hancock with him, which likely meant they were off eloping under the guise of killing raiders. Or both at the same time, which sounded about like an ideal date. Probably both, damn romantic bastards. After stewing in her own bitterness for a while, Cait realized she probably should be paying attention to at least a bit of Curie’s ramblings, even if it was only to watch the corners of her mouth curl up as she explained something exciting, or the way the late-afternoon light drizzled through her hair. Something in the back of Cait’s mind chimed that this kind of behavior would lead to something bad - what, it wouldn't specify. Never one for indecision or mystery, Cait took this as a sign to ignore it and promptly did, spending the rest of the trip patiently listening to the ambient noise Curie created and counting her footsteps all the way back to Sanctuary.

 

Preston greeted them with a cheerful smile and a short wave as they pattered across the creaky bridge. Though it was now a bit less full of holes thanks to Nate and an unfortunate misstep that had sent him crashing through a hole into the river, the rickety thing still sent Cait’s nerves buzzing. Curie waved back enthusiastically in the corners of Cait’s vision, calling a greeting up to the minuteman. “Don't get all settled in now. We gotta unpack this shite first.” Cait snapped with no real anger in her tone, holding her hand out expectantly for Curie’s pack.

 

“Oh, but of course! My apologies.” With a promise that she would be back later to chat, Curie turned back to Cait.

 

“Lead the way, buttercup.” Cait said innocently as you please, feeling a small surge of victory at the slight blush that appeared on Curie’s cheeks.

 

Hell, this was almost better than making naughty comments to Piper and watching her stutter and turn red as a tato. Almost. Cait didn't think really anyone could top Piper’s awkwardness.

 

Cait was very much loathe to ever admit it, but god damn was Curie right about how sore she was. After the doctor’s gentle comment about how tense she seemed, the redhead couldn't help but take notice of tiny details, like how her fingers smarted when she reloaded just a bit too fast, or how a hasty retreat set her legs singing in pain.

 

This only heightened her relief as Curie stretched her arms out and got to work on her aching hands, gently digging her fingertips into Cait’s palm. She couldn’t quite help but marvel, in her slightly dazed state, at Curie’s fingernails, clipped short and sturdy and free of dirt. Instead of smelling of gunpowder and sweat and blood - like she _should_ , the smell clung to the wasteland always like a thick fog - Curie smelled lightly of the chemical cleaners Nate so loved to collect, and the scent you got from burying your face in a teddy bear. (Not that Cait had ever done that, much less felt the urge to.)

 

Even through her hazy thoughts about the doctor, who was now pressing gentle circles into her forearm, Cait started to feel the cold dread of uncomfort in her stomach. She was gentle, so gentle… too gentle. It wasn’t right. The intrusive thoughts about how inherently _bad_ this was were coming back, creeping over her fast, much too fast. Curie’s soft touches started to feel more and more like cold lead against her skin, prickling with a texture that sent her skin crawling. The synth seemed to notice quickly, pulling her head up and pushing back shiny locks of hair to look at Cait questioningly. “Is this alright? Do not hesitate to tell me if it hurts -” she started, concern apparent on her face.

 

In her honest opinion, Cait had had much more of her daily quota of concern than she could handle. Something delicate within her, never truly healed over, snapped and she jerked her arm away, rubbing it subconsciously. “No. No, I. No.” was all she could stutter out, words fleeing her brain as quick as the shadow of uncomfort had come.

 

Curie placed a hand on her arm, clearly meant to soothe - however, it only inflamed, sending Cait jerking back. “Don’t!” she nearly shrieked, before clapping a hand over her mouth, the urge to bite her fingers nagging at her.

 

Curie recoiled as though she had been burnt, shock shown in every facet of her eyes only for a moment before the professionalism of any doctor took over and she dropped her hands - her clean, gentle hands - at her sides, assuring Cait it was alright. “Dammit, it’s not - I’m not - fuck, I’m makin’ a mess of this.” Cait’s thoughts jumbled, disjointed, tumbling out like water sputtering out of a leaky pipe.

 

She shoved past the doctor and her attempts at soothing. “Shut up. Shut _up,_ it’s not you. It’s not you. I gotta go.” Cait paused for just a moment, biting at her lips in the stretching silence, Curie having obediently shut up.

 

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” she could only hiss out before she fled, her sore legs protesting the sudden movement with renewed vigor.

  
Back in her assigned room and trying to ignore the growing headache nibbling at the corners of her consciousness, Cait rolled over to keep the brunt of her weight off her aching back and stared at the peeling wall before her, counting 26 cracks in it before slipping into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> conflict appears! i honestly think cait is coded as some type of mentally ill, or at the least dealing with trauma - her backstory more than reveals she's dealt with some horrible stuff. hope i captured the feeling alright enough (mostly based it off my experience), and thanks again for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

“Sorry?!” Nate sputters over his whiskey, drops shooting out of his mouth and onto the table before he can stop them.

 

Curie absentmindedly mops them up with a neglected strip of brahmin skin (still a maid somewhere in her programming, old habits die hard) and nods slowly. “Yes, Madame Cait apologized to me. Was it not appropriate for the situation?” she questions, inquisitive eyes roaming over Nate’s incredulous expression. 

 

“Jesus - I didn’t think that word was even in her vocabulary!” he wheezes, slapping a hand to his knee and giggling in a way only the inebriated could. “Holy shit, Curie, she must really like you. I mean, I knew there was something, but, but, I’ve never heard Cait say that to anyone. Anyone.” He stumbles a bit over his phrasing and emphasizes a few words more than Curie thinks is rational, but she still understands and quietly mulls over the meaning of this.

 

She finally settles on the warm feeling in her gut that blooms at the thought of Cait actually enjoying her presence. “That… sounds very nice. Does this mean she will listen to my scientific theorems?” It's a half-hearted and slightly weak joke, but Nate still cackles and tightens his grip on her shoulder. 

 

“You bet she would. Speaking of, me ‘n Hancock were hoping to have a bonfire tonight!” He paused for a moment, snapping his fingers as he searched for the words. “You should, uh, invite Cait over to have fun with you. With us. Us. We are most definitely all in this together. Having a bonfire. Trading stories, all that good stuff.”  Nate again jumbles his words, but Curie forgives quickly after recalling that it is still 11 AM and he’s had 2 bottles of whiskey, easy. 

 

“As long as you invite Cait yourself.” She says, not wanting to spoil that warm feeling she still feels fluttering in her gut. 

 

“Deal.”

 

***

 

Though it had been obvious that their initial plan was to bail, Nate and Hancock had left the two women alone in record time - though it was probably for the best, the level of drunk and handsy they were getting to and Curie’s matching level of discomfort were also likely a record. So when Cait finally snapped for them to shut up or get a room, the two left in a giggling mess, most likely to indeed “get a room”. Curie quietly made a mental note to avoid whichever house they had gone into, and quickly the duo was alone with only the fire crackling between them. 

 

The silence stretched out long and cold between them, despite the fire’s warm crackling that reflected just right into Cait’s eyes - warm colors complimented her, like the warm feelings Curie got around her. 

 

“The stars look nice tonight.” Curie said finally, tilting her head back and brushing stray hair out of her face to get a better glance at the objects in question. 

 

Cait lifted her head to stare at them, fire flickering in her eyes. “Yeah, sure. The radioactive fog just spices up the look. Makes it that much more  _ nice. _ ” she said bitterly, sarcasm practically dripping from her words.

 

Idle conversation wasn't really doing the trick, apparently. Curie desperately clawed at her brain for another way to approach this, but before she could make another attempt, Cait let out a resigned sigh. "The stars do look nice tonight."

 

Curie smiled simply, letting her eyes wander again to the ambient twinkling of the stars above. “It’s very interesting,” she started, “how some things don’t change. I cannot say I’ve seen much of the pre-war world, only the vault and pictures from old times, but… this world is so much different. Not expected, I suppose? But even with all that… some things stay the same. The stars are still up there. They look just as beautiful as I thought they would.” She pauses for a moment, giving Cait a chance to respond. 

 

When the redhead only quietly looks at her, giving abridged permission to go on, Curie happily obliges. “I read once, something about how the people of this world draw pictures in the stars. They’d find patterns, and name them after famous figures, everyday objects, things that inspired them…” She traced a delicate nail over her thigh, as if she could map the stars’ patterns out onto her skin. “They’re still here. Like a reminder that everything comes to pass, but some things always stay. It’s… entrancing.” She trails off, so overcome with wonder she forgets to properly conclude her train of thought. 

 

Cait continues her silence, but the way she shifts incrementally closer to Curie goes unremarked but not unnoticed. They sit in comfortable silence for many minutes, the immortal stars continuing their journey across the sky. Cait tosses a dry stick into the fire, watching it flare up to hungrily consume the wood. A stray dog howls somewhere out in the wood. At the wall, a turret beeps a warning. 

 

The air is cold but not stiff, and the silence is not uncomfortable or unwelcomed. Cait tries to think back to the last time she was able to sit in silence with someone else, but the cobwebs of old memories evade her. Finally, her thick voice breaks the silence.

 

“You haven’t changed either, you know.”

 

“What?” Curie utters gracefully, quickly started out of her thoughts.

 

Bluntly ignoring the question in favor of continuing her train of thought, Cait continues. “It’s… entrancing to me too, I guess.” She blankly watches her fingers as they twist around in her lap - never nervously, only to burn off the excess energy that bubbles up under her skin.

 

“All I’ve learned ‘bout this radioactive hellhole is that no one escapes alive. No one isn’t moldable, adaptive, because who doesn’t adapt  _ dies. _ ” Her words come out jumbled and sentence structure is forgotten in her rush to get out the hotness that burns in the back of her brain. 

 

“But you’ve been the same. Hell, switched bodies, changed everything about yourself in search of something new, but you’re still the same. How do you do it?” Cait continued spitting out her thoughts, glaring at the stars which only twinkled merrily in return.

 

Curie has no answer for that, but somehow that’s alright. The fire flickers to ashes in its pit, light fading but the warmth still hanging in her air like a low, thick fog. The two women head back to their assigned rooms, and if their fingers brush each others on the way back, keeping that remaining warmth burning - well, that’s no one’s business but theirs.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait for something so small, i'll try to scrape something more together soon. thanks for reading as always !


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this little project may be in a small hiatus for a while as i'm running out of inspiration and proper plot, but i will do my best to get new chapters up soon. thanks so much for all the support and kudos, it means a lot and as always, thanks for reading!

It's sometime in the cold not-quite-night-but-not-quite-evening time period and the radio plays loud and slow, tendrils of song curling through holes in the walls. A ghost of prewar past wails about the end of the world, and Cait somehow thinks the world ended a bit differently. She studies her hands, cracked and raw from the events of the day - a brawl that toed the line of friendly and battle-hungry with the neighborhood's one Paladin Danse, working the rust off of her shotgun with a dulled knife, digging scrap out of the old junkyard by the weak light of the sunrise - cuts are littered among the hair on her hands, like a strange pattern fluttering its way across her skin. Now she sits next to the old power armor stand in Red Rocket - which seems more of a sanctuary to her than the settlement by the same name, filled with constant noise and she was sure, somewhere in the back of her mind, haunted by those who had once lived there. And since the courser Nate had supposedly befriended moved in, Cait was constantly watching her back, sleeping with metal knuckles curled round her fists. Red Rocket was an island in the storm, and there she leans against the cracked leather of the couch and listens to Skeeter Davis croon to the time of the turrets puttering outside.

 

The star-studded flag Nate has hung over the garage door of Red Rocket flutters in more than just the wind, and Cait quickly senses someone is entering. Satisfied that they weren’t torn to shreds by the turrets, she makes no move to change her sprawled pose, or to greet the newcomer - none other than a certain French doctor.

 

Curie pushes through the moth-eaten fabric, humming in surprise when it tries to catch on the tiny bobby pin she has tucked in her hair. She flounders there for a moment before joining Cait in the room, hair slightly mussed from her struggle - an annoyingly endearing detail.

 

She blinks blearily in the fluorescent light that flickers above, as the sun has begun its journey below the low-hanging clouds and darkness is slowly eating its way across the wasteland. Her eyes cast lightly to the empty space on the worn couch, which stood proud despite its stuffing falling out and the at least 3 unidentified stains crawling across its fabric. It was a silent question, followed by a silent answer, and soon a warm weight dipped into the couch cushions.

 

The radio rattled and clicked for a moment before leading into another song, blissfully uninterrupted by the poor stuttering DJ. The tune was another smooth love song, one Cait had caught Nate blubbering into a bottle of whiskey over more than once.

 

A bit too loud and without much tact, Curie broke the silence. “Would you like to dance?”  It was obviously a question she had been pondering on for many minutes, as she looked mortified but simultaneously relieved to have gotten it out there in the open.

 

Cait raised a thick eyebrow, barely casting her eyes over to the synth’s waiting face. “I’d love to,” she started, and a smile quirked at her lips at Curie's excitement. “...if I had the slightest inkling about how to do so. Thought you’d understand the wasteland a bit more by now - there ain't much time for shit like dancing.” She deadpanned, smile transitioning into a gloating smirk.

 

Curie’s mouth formed a small “o” as she pondered on this. “Well… I must admit, I do not know how either. But! I do know how to sway!” To demonstrate, she put out her hands and let a shimmy shiver down her hips.

 

A resigned sigh slipped from Cait’s lips, like she could have said no anyways. There was something about Curie that made Cait want to treasure her, to give her kind gestures and sweet things - she’d seen it in everyone else as well, the gentle doctor was constantly getting gifts. However, Cait herself wasn't used to this kind of feeling, and it was like a constant itch at the back of her mind, making her twitchy and uncomfortable - any day the synth could ask something horrible of her, and she wasn't sure if she'd be able to say no.

 

The synth in question, of course, had taken her sigh as a sign of acceptance and was gently pulling at her hands, trying to get her off the seat (which felt awfully more comfortable now that she was leaving it). She pushed herself up, muscles smarting in unison and causing her to wince ever so slightly, which went thankfully unnoticed.

 

Curie immediately rests her head on her Cait's shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and Cait suppresses the urge to shrug it off if only because it is almost pleasant, a warm weight against her. The doctor’s hair smells of the shampoo Nate so insists in leaving in the communal showers (a crude mixture of mutfruit and scavenged soap, really), and while it's a bit sharp, it's so  _ Curie _ somehow that it almost leaves her reeling a bit. Never one to dwell on vague feelings, Cait quickly and without much fanfare decides she's here for the the long run and settles in, placing a hand on Curie's back, the sudden pressure causing the petite woman to stumble just slightly. 

  
There they swayed - Curie in her twinkling sequin dress Nate had stolen from a particularly rude member of the Upper Stands, and Cait in her suspenders and the shirt with a creeping stain that seemed to change shape every time she looked. They danced out to the world, the sick expanse of earth that the bombs left behind. Fingers tighten, bodies rock, and there is no trace to be found of the uncomfortable feeling in Cait’s gut. 


End file.
